


Cheap Booze, Dingy Motels, Handsome Strangers

by mollydewinter



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Sex, Breathplay, Happy Birthday Babes, M/M, Married Couple, Motorcyclist Mihawk, Porn With Plot, Pseudo-Cheating, Spit As Lube, and since he was such a hit, basically it's one of those, blink and you miss it - Freeform, couple meets at a bar acting like strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29946189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollydewinter/pseuds/mollydewinter
Summary: Shanks downs the rest of his drink and approaches. There’s a drag to his step and a smile on his face as he walks towards the stranger. He leans against the bar, elbow on the marked wood, eyeing the other man from a downwards angle. His presence has been noted but not acknowledged. From this close, Shanks can freely observe this black-haired beauty to his heart’s content. His fingers are long and thin, their grasp on the short glass is light. The edge of his jaw is sharp, his scent is simply intoxicating.“You come here often?”
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Dracule Mihawk
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Cheap Booze, Dingy Motels, Handsome Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Dropping by to post this while it's still March 9th to celebrate my babes
> 
> This is just shameless porn and an idea that I think is PERFECT for shanks and mihawk: basically they're a married couple with the world's rowdiest kids and they go out to bars and flirt with each other, pretending they're strangers
> 
> It's pretty simple and sweet and I had so so much fun writing it! ALSO! I once again included Motorcyclist/Leather Mihawk since he was such a hit hehe
> 
> hope you enjoy it :D feel free to hmu at twitter @_mollydewinter_

Shanks scans the area around him but it’s mostly for show. He knows what he wants, he already made up his mind the moment he laid eyes on it. It’s not often he sees a stranger this beautiful, this divine in an otherwordly, almost unbelievable way. In his daily life, he’s often surrounded by attractive people - he likes to consider himself rather charming in a rough, casual sort of way - but this creature is quite simply the pinnacle of creation. Shanks had seen him when he first arrived, he had followed the gorgeous stranger’s every move as he got off that sleek, pitch-black motorcycle of his and removed his helmet to reveal more beauty lying underneath. His strut is proud, back straight and poised, lean muscle flexing with every step underneath all that black leather. 

Breathing only became more difficult when the stranger walked into the bar. It’s seedy, dark and with that very particular tangy scent all roadside hole-in-the-walls have. The jukebox in the corner, a remnant of better, brighter days, spews melody after melody, playing at a low volume. It perfectly accompanies the drowsy, lazy, almost passive conversations among the few patrons, the buzz of the TV that plays a game no one’s watching. The stranger stands at the doorway and the light around him dims, the air shifts to something honey-sweet and electrifying. Curious eyes sneak glances but Shanks is the only one with the audacity to downright _stare_.

How can he not, when the other is quite literally breathtaking? It’s not just the body, a godly creation by its own right, all long legs and curved waist, supple ass that looks absolutely enticing in those sinfully tight leather pants. As Shanks’ starving gaze moves up, seeking more of that stunning stranger, he finds his face. His breath hitches in his throat, his grip around his foggy glass tightens. Alabaster skin, flawless and utterly unapproachable, high cheekbones and a sharp nose, deceptively soft lips. His hair is jet black, slicked back in an attempt to be neat though it’s still spiky and scruffy. But it all comes down to those eyes. It’s like the sunset from a few hours ago has been swallowed by them. Gold, shining almost blinding, sharper than a dagger, surrounded by long, thick lashes that bat slowly, casting shadows across his pale cheeks. He checks the room, scrunching his nose just a bit, though enough for Shanks to notice. This is no place for him. He’s a cacophony as he sits down on the greasy bar and orders something that could have been bourbon had Fate been kinder, a being of absolute luxury, opulence, perfection fallen into a lesser reality.

Shanks downs the rest of his drink and approaches. There’s a drag to his step and a smile on his face as he walks towards the stranger. He leans against the bar, elbow on the marked wood, eyeing the other man from a downwards angle. His presence has been noted but not acknowledged. From this close, Shanks can freely observe this black-haired beauty to his heart’s content. His fingers are long and thin, their grasp on the short glass is light. The edge of his jaw is sharp, his scent is simply intoxicating.

“You come here often?”

The line is horrible but its success lies in that fact. There’s a scoff which Shanks interprets as a chuckle before the stranger brings the glass to his lips. As he puts it back down, a drop of amber clings to his bottom lip. Shanks almost surges forward to kiss it off.

He glances down at the man’s drink. "Bourbon?”

The man shrugs. “If you squint.”

Shanks laughs and the sound is too loud, shattering the veil of hushed ambiance that envelops the bar. He signals the bartender down. “Leave us the bottle.” As he says it, he fishes out a couple of crumpled bills and leaves them on the table. The bartender offers them the bottle and returns to wiping the clean glasses with a dirty rag. 

“So.”

“So?”

“Do you come here often? I feel like I’ve met you before.”

“No one forgets meeting me.”

God, that voice. It’s low by nature, effortlessly calm, smooth like velvet, and cold like the ice that clinks around both their glasses. Shanks has always detested arrogant people but this overwhelming amount of self-confidence fits this creature like a glove. If there’s anyone on this planet worthy of oozing with this amount of arrogance, it’s him. Shanks oogles shamelessly, letting his gaze travel across the other man’s body. It’s only because the other allows it. A god is no stranger to the prying eyes of his worshippers.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Shanks murmurs. He very boldly grabs the bottle and pours them both another round. A perfectly sculpted brow is quirked at him. He smiles, equal parts sheepish and devious. “Cheers.”

The black-haired man doesn’t return the gesture. He simply brings the glass to his lips and takes a sip. A stray drop rolls from the corner of his mouth and this time, Shanks reaches up, wiping it off with his thumb and sucking it into his own mouth. Those golden eyes turn to him, austere but not discouraging. He grins, leaning closer. 

“I’m Red,” he lilts. He pauses to take a sip and winces. Whatever this thing is, it’s not bourbon. It might actually be worse than the rat poison Shakky serves. “Cuz of the hair and all. You are?”

“Growing bored. Your luck’s running out, Red.”

Shanks hisses. It’s like he enjoys having this heel press into his neck. It’s refreshing to finally be met with a challenge, to sweat while fighting to convince someone to follow him home. It’s definitely nostalgic, reminding him of when he was younger, when his biggest concern was wooing the handsome stranger sitting at the bar.

“If you’re not gonna give me anything, I’ll have to find you a name on my own.”

The stranger smirks. it’s faint and it lasts only a second but Shanks catches it, lets it pour into his bloodstream. 

“Do your worst.”

Shanks hums. He studies the other man’s face, the curve of his nose, his beautiful lips, his bright eyes. “Hawkeyes,” he decides. “How’s that sound? I think it’s pretty short and sweet. Perfect to shout while we’re fucking, doncha think?”

This time, Hawkeyes laughs. He snorts a little, wiping the bourbon that spilled out of his nose with a nearby paper towel. Shanks grins. He leans into the sound, enjoying every second of it. Hawkeyes turns to face him, faint smirk still on his lips. 

“You’re pretty bold.”

“Guilty as charged. You’re the prettiest damn thing I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, Hawkeyes,” he breathes longingly, reaching up to trace the shell of Hawkeyes’ ear, “and I’d be a fool to not say it.”

“What if I’m a serial killer?”

“I wouldn’t mind dying for a taste of you.” Something flashes in those brilliant eyes. Shanks doesn’t dare look away. Their light is simply captivating, the dark desire reflected in them pulls him in. His hand moves lower, his thumb traces that full bottom lip. It’s soft and plump, begging for a kiss. Hawkeyes opens his mouth and sucks it in, taking it between his teeth while locking eyes with the redhead. Shanks hisses in a breath. 

Reluctantly, he tears his gaze away, focusing it on the nearest clock. It’s 10 PM already. The night will end before any of them realizes it and Shanks would be a fool to let it go to waste. 

“What do you say we get out of here? I can think of so many better places for the two of us to be.”

As he says that, he notices something he hadn’t before. There’s a golden band glimmering around one of Hawkeyes’ fingers, the proclamation of love and loyalty. He smiles, amused and curious.

“Should I be scared?”

Hawkeyes hums. “Very. He could finish you off with one hand.”

“Well, that’s only fair. But that makes me think, Hawkeyes. What if your husband walks in on us while we’re fucking?”

Hawkeyes quirks a brow at him, flashing him a questioning look. “I thought you said you didn’t mind dying for a taste of me.”

“Asshole,” Shanks mumbles with affection. “Is he jealous?”

“Extremely so. Do you blame him?”

Shanks shakes his head. The man who calls this sublime creation ‘his’ knows what heaven feels like. 

Hawkeyes gets up and Shanks trots behind him. He briefly returns to the bar to grab the bottle and follows the other man outside, to where his motorcycle awaits. It certainly looks bigger up close and way more intimidating. Shanks hesitates and Hawkeyes takes note of it.

“I have a helmet,” he explains and indeed, presents Shanks with another helmet. 

“How do you ride this thing,” he mumbles. It’s too small compared to other vehicles, too open. Shanks has more protests to voice, he’s even ready to suggest they take an Uber, but all sound dies in his mouth as Hawkeyes mounts his motorcycle. He’s practically laying on top of it, bent over and waiting for Shanks to climb behind him. 

“Put your arm around my waist,” Hawkeyes instructs. 

Reluctantly, Shanks mounts the back, sitting with his crotch almost flat against Hawkeyes’ backside. Okay, the position itself isn’t horrible, though Shanks still can’t help but freak out a little. He makes sure not to show it, drowning the yelp that almost escapes his lips when Hawkeyes revs the engine and takes off, cutting through the air, an arrow slipping through traffic with nothing to stop him. The engine roars loudly, obnoxiously, the cold air falls harshly on Shank’s face, messing his crimson locks. He presses his face against the cool surface of the other man’s leather jacket, closing his eyes just a bit, letting the city lights around them melt into a golden blur.

From the outskirts to downtown, to the outskirts once again, the two men finally arrive at their destination the moment the first drops of rain begin to fall. It’s a motel outside of town, unassuming and almost entirely devoid of life. The rooms are all dark except for one and the parking lot is nearly entirely empty. The night is quiet, still, save for the rain that falls steadily on a tin room somewhere nearby. 

Hawkeyes parks the motorcycle and Shanks hops off it eagerly, delighted to have solid ground underneath his feet once again. The bottle survived, somehow, though judging by the dirty, knowing glare the other man shoots him, drinking isn’t part of the schedule. Shanks very pliantly follows his partner for the night into the motel’s lobby. Well, putting it politely. It’s a small entrance hall, tinged with a faint, damp scent that’s overpowered by the trademark smell of an air freshener. From the patches on the old couches to the doily on the flickering TV, it’s obvious that the owners have made an attempt to spruce up the place.

Hawkeyes steps to the side, clearly not wanting to engage in any sort of conversation with the old woman sitting behind the front desk, safe behind a sheet of plexiglass. Shanks approaches, flashing her a sheepish, polite smile.

“Good evening,” he says. “I would like a room, if you have any available.”

She eyes the pair with interest, smiling at some secret thought of hers. Slowly, she gets up and fetches Shanks a key. As she slides it underneath the partition, she leans in, voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

“I’m gonna give you the honeymoon room,” she smiles. “So have fun with your pretty friend.”

Hawkeyes looks on, equal parts annoyed and impatient, curious as to what Shanks and his new friend are giggling about. Shanks pays the old lady and guides Hawkeyes up the stairs. The honeymoon suite of a roadside motel is as honeymoon-ish as one would expect. There’s pink wallpaper, spotted with red hearts, a fuschia rug, a heart shaped-bed covered in hot pink satin. Shanks leans in, spotting a heart-shaped bathtub in the red-tiled bathroom.

“Vile,” Hawkeyes grumbles as he takes a look around the room.

“Come on,” Shanks laughs. “I think it’s pretty cute.”

The sentiment is obviously not shared. Shanks paces to where the black-haired man stands against the wall, arms folded, lips letting out a jaded sigh. The way he stands out against the pink hearts of the background, decked out in spikes and leather, makes Shanks giggle. He leans in, kissing the scowl off of his lover’s face. His arm sneaks around his waist, pulling him in. Hawkeyes slowly unfolds his arms, letting Shanks push him around the wall as their kiss deepens. What started off as nearly chaste grows with the passing seconds. Painted nails dig into Shanks’ skull, curious fingers pull on his crimson locks. Two mouths move against one another, eager and yearning. Their tongues meet, their teeth tug on lips, leaving behind bites, drawing out blood. Shanks pulls away, breathless, forehead pressed against Hawkeyes’. His lover stares right back, pupils blown out wide, the gold of his eyes shining brighter, hotter. 

“Does your husband know you’re doing this?” Shanks whispers. His lips seek out Hawkeyes’ neck, greedy tongue running along the expanse of creamy skin. He sucks on a little spot right below Hawkeyes’ jaw, feeling his pulse quicken under his kiss. It earns him a soft gasp and he sucks harder, getting his teeth to it, wondering if he can make Hawkeyes sing louder.

“Does he know you let strangers take you to motels and fuck you?” he continues, voice barely above a needy hiss. 

Hawkeyes grabs him by the hair and pulls his head back, making him arch his neck. His eyes are narrowed, two slits of gold, as he leans in and drags his tongue along Shanks’ neck, going up to bite his earlobe. Shanks grins. Guess talking about the husband is off-limits.

Their limbs are tangled and they move in a frenzy, blindly tugging on clothes as the two men walk to the bed, never breaking their kiss for more than a few seconds. A trail of clothes follows them, haphazardly strewn across the floor. Hawkeyes throws Shanks on the bed, climbing on top. Shanks can barely hold back his smile as that golden-eyed sin crawls over him on all fours, caging him between his strong, sculpted thighs. Hawkeyes captures his lips, kissing his breath away. And Shanks gazes at the godly body above his own, completely naked but for the cross dangling from his neck, absolutely mesmerized. His hand moves lower, finding both his and the other man’s cock. He wraps his fingers around them, bringing them together and letting them _rub_. Hawkeyes groans softly, leaning into the touch. He moves his hips as Shanks pumps his calloused fist, letting the rough skin move on the heated flesh. Hawkeyes places his hands on Shanks’ shoulders, supporting himself as he follows the redhead’s tempo. Their foreheads touch, lips open and grazing against each other, sharing the same wet, huffy breath.

“Let me hear you, sweetheart,” Shanks keens. He’d love to have Hawkeyes moaning like a professional whore but he knows very well that if he wants to make this man cry out his name, he’ll have to earn it. This isn’t just a hook-up with a pretty stranger he picked up on the bar but a luxury, and he should be on his knees, thanking Hawkeyes for letting him do this.

“Red,” Hawkeyes gasps and his voice is sweet, a mellow whisper that goes straight to Shanks’ leaking cock. 

Shanks knows he has to stop. No matter how good it feels, he can’t waste a night like this on just a handjob. He pulls his hand back abruptly, leaving both him and Hawkeyes to gasp for air.

“On your knees,” he growls and Hawkeyes nods eagerly. 

They both scramble to get into position. Hawkeyes is on his knees, arms on the red velour headboard, gracing Shanks with a gorgeous view of his flawless, muscular back, his nipped-in waist, the swell of his perfectly sculpted ass. Shanks loses himself for a second, transfixed at the sight. Hawkeyes looks over his shoulder, flashing him a questioning look and one of those teasing smirks that make Shanks’ cock twitch.

“Well, go on,” he purrs. “What are you waiting for?”

Shanks hisses in a breath. He scoots closer, mouth already on Hawkeyes’ shoulders and neck. “You’ll be the death of me,” he moans, cock rubbing between the man’s plump cheeks. 

His hand snakes around Hawkeyes’ waist, tracing paths across the chiseled muscle until his fingers found his mouth. He presses two digits against his lips, smiling fondly when they’re sucked in. Hawkeyes circles them with his tongue, biting down softly.

“Good,” Shanks praises softly, bucking into his lover. “Suck these for me, sweetheart.”

When he pulls his fingers out, they’re soaking, dripping with saliva. The messier, the better, since he has nothing else to prepare the other man with. He opens his mouth to speak but Hawkeyes is faster, bending over with his chest on the bed, holding himself open before Shanks can tell him to do it.

Shanks traces that pretty little hole with one finger, watching it twitch under his touch. He pushes one finger in, reveling at the way it’s sucked to the last knuckle. He adds the second, hearing Hawkeyes keen into the pillow. He makes sure he’s being extra careful and attentive, taking his sweet time into stretching his lover out. He scissors his fingers, angling them up, pressing against the other man’s sweet, sweet spot. A little sound is mumbled into the pillow, a huffy little moan that only encourages Shanks to get rougher. 

He pulls his fingers out and hastily wipes them on the sheets. Hawkeyes gets back on his knees, arms on the headboard as Shanks presses his chest against his back. With his cock held in his hand, Shanks presses against the other’s stretched entrance, slowly pushing in. Despite the prep work, Hawkeyes is still so deliciously tight, practically sucking him in. Once he’s fully sheathed, he groans, chest heaving, sweat rolling down his neck.

“You’re so tight, honey,” he drawls. “Doesn’t your husband fuck you?”

“You talk about my husband a lot,” Hawkeyes murmurs. “You wanna fuck him too?”

“I’d kill him if I ever saw him,” he growls, leaving a bite on the nape of Hawkeyes’ neck, “for getting to you before I could.”

Slowly, he pulls out, almost to the tip, before slamming back in, to the last inch. He’s practically glued on the other man, sweaty skin against skin, bodies burning together. He moves slowly at first, letting his lover adjust to the feeling of mouth-watering fullness. Every thrust is deep, precise, the tip aimed right at that little spot that makes Hawkeyes see stars. He moves his hips back against Shanks’ trying to get as much friction as possible. The bed creaks under their weight, moving to the rhythm of their passionate fucking.

“Sh-ah!” Hawkeyes yelps, head falling on his chest.

Shanks grins. His hand digs into the silky black hair, yanking Hawkeyes back until his head rests on Shanks’ shoulder, pretty neck arched and exposed to Shanks’ famished kisses. The view is simply captivating. Shanks wonders if this is heaven on earth, looking down on that divine face, watching all those lustful expressions, drinking those dirty little moans from those puffy lips, as if they were the sweetest nectar. 

“You almost slipped there, baby bird,” he growls, pressing his grin against Hawkeyes’ skin. He’s flushing a beautiful pink color, from his marked neck to the tips of his ears. 

Shanks picks up the pace, fucking Hawkeyes in earnest, one hand thrown around his neck, pressing just hard enough to make him the right kind of dizzy. The sounds they make bounce off the walls, all the needy moans and filthy words, the sound of skin hitting against skin. 

“C’mon,” Shanks hisses. “Cum for me, angeleyes.”

Hawkeyes groans, throwing his head to the side. Shanks’ hand moves from his neck down his torso until he finds his cock. He wraps his fingers around the neglected length, stroking it in sync with his thrusts. Hawkeyes is absolutely captivating when he climaxes, all fluttering lashes, letting a mangled moan leap from his mouth. His hole clenches around the redhead, cock spurting white ribbons into his lover’s fist. Shanks doesn’t stop, pistoning his hips in a frenzy, slamming back into the other man as he chases his own orgasm.

“Is it okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss into Hawkeyes’ skin. Hawkeyes nods hastily and Shanks releases inside of him, groaning as he lets go, blacking out, letting his orgasm wash over his body. 

They stay like this for a while, still and glued together, listening to one another’s breath go from rugged back to normal. Shanks is reluctant to pull out, still enjoying his lover’s warm insides wrapped around him. When he does, cum trickles out of Hawkeyes’ hole, running down his milky thigh. Shanks grins. He wipes the cum with one finger and shoves it back into Hawkeyes’, smiling as the other man groans.

“You’re disgusting,” he huffs but Shanks takes note of the underlying fondness. 

Despite appearances, they’re not as young as they once were and if there’s hope for a round two, some rest beforehand is necessary. Shanks sinks into the surprisingly warm and clean covers and rests against the pillow. He reaches for the chain that hangs around his neck, removing the ring he’s been wearing as a pendant, and puts it back on his finger, where it belongs. 

The silence between them is comfortable. They lay on the bed, side by side, listening to the rain from outside. Before Shanks can pull his lover for some mandatory cuddling, Hawkeyes’ phone rings. He flashes Shanks an apologetic glance before reaching over to answer it.

“Yes?” Shanks stretches his arm, reaching for the other man’s chiseled back, idly caressing him as he talks with what sounds like an irritated young man. “What do you mean you’re lost? Where are you?” Shanks chuckles fondly. “What are you even doing at a gas station in the middle of the night? Actually, don’t answer that, just know you’re grounded… I can’t come pick you up, Zoro! Call your sister.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Listen to me. Take a screenshot of Google Maps and send it to her. If she says she’s not coming, tell her Dad said so.”

With that, Mihawk hangs up and drops the phone on the bed, falling on the pillow with a groan. As Shanks opens his mouth to speak, his own phone rings. He picks up, immediately greeted by a shrill voice and what sounds like another argument about food in the background.

“ _Ace ate everything again!_ ” Luffy shrieks.

Shanks sighs heavily. “Luffy, it’s fine. I left you money for take-out, you can just order more food.”

“ _He’ll eat that, too!_ ”

“Go over to Usopp’s and order from there. I’ll talk to Ace in the morning, okay?”

Luffy squeals something but Shanks doesn’t have the mind for it. He just ends the call and rolls over, meeting his husband’s jaded face. They both sigh wearily.

“They’re never gonna leave us alone, are they,” Shanks muses. Mihawk shakes his head.

“Can’t believe we have to do this bullshit to spend a night by ourselves,” he mumbles sleepily. He scoots closer to his spouse, nestling in his embrace.

Shanks kisses him on the forehead, hand tracing idle shapes on his back. He lets his eyelids flutter shut, mind slowly drifting to sleep. Round two would be nice, but in a house full of rowdy kids, spending some time just cuddling with the man he loves is a rare and decadent luxury. Might as well indulge in it while they can.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment if you liked the story :D


End file.
